


together

by crutchiebytheway



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crutchiebytheway/pseuds/crutchiebytheway
Summary: Wirt deals with the aftershocks of the unknown.





	

Wirt was lying in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling when he heard Greg call out. 

Within seconds, he burst out of his bed and instinctively fumbled with the lightswitch. There was no need; Wirt hadn't slept with the lights off in months. 

Greg yelled again, more urgently this time, and Wirt picked up the pace, getting down the hall to Greg's room in record time. 

"Wirt!"

Greg sat straight up in bed, trashing with the sheets and screaming until he was red in the face. 

"It's me, Greg," Wirt said as calmly as he could. "It's Wirt. You're home."

"Where's Jason Funderberker?!"

Wirt fumbled in the frog's aquarium on the ground, and eventually caught Jason Funderberker to bring up to the bed. "He's here. We both are."

Wirt dropped the frog in Greg's lap and scooted onto the bed himself. Greg's breathing slowly corrected itself. The tears tracks on his cheeks began to dry and Wirt reached out to smooth his hair. Wirt could hardly look him in the eyes. His expression was too pained, and far too familiar. No child should ever have that expression.

"Me too, Greg. I get it." 

Greg nodded softly. "It's not so bad now that Jason Funderberker is here."

Wirt chuckled and made a movement to leave. "That's right."

Greg shot his hand out to grab at the fabric of Wirt's shirt. "And you too, Wirt."

The growing lump in Wirt's throat almost stopped him from speaking. "Tell you what," he managed. "How about I stay here for tonight?"

"Like a sleepover!" Greg said excitedly, scooting over to make room for Wirt. In turn, Wirt gladly slid into his new spot and tried to close his eyes, but even with his brother by his side, still couldn't bring himself to do it.

+

"This is so lame," Sara complained, waving the tv remote in the air. 

"There's got to be at least one good show on," said Wirt. 

It was still unbelievable to him. Here he was, curled up next to Sara on her couch, in her house, watching movies, and that was her free hand nestled in his when half a year ago he could barely speak to her. He scooted a little closer.

"Oh! Here we go!" she exclaimed. "This is supposed to be good."

It's cheesy, Wirt can tell, from the cheap piano music that's supposed to sound menacing, but it doesn't matter. The moment he sees a dark, shadowy figure traveling through the woods, his eyes cross and suddenly he can't see anything else. 

"Sara..." he sputtered, pulling his slick hand away from hers. He pawed at his skin, for it felt suddenly far too tight.

"Wirt?" Sara said from a great distance. 

Without another word, he was running down the hall, bursting into the bathroom, and promptly throwing up into the toilet. Perfect, what a fuckup he was, he couldn't even watch a campy movie with his girlfriend because The Beast was everywhere, watching him, maybe even inside his mind constricting his breathing and forcing him into this mess and he would never be able to escape-

"Wirt."

And there was Sara, who must have followed him, kneeling down beside him. She asked no questions, just rubbed his back until he was done. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again. It was as if his brain could focus on nothing more than forming those words. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Wirt, honey," Sara said gently. "It happens. It's alright."

+

A small part of him wished that his parents would catch on that something was wrong. Realistically though, Wirt knew that they would never believe him, even if he could find the words to explain, and both he and Greg would end up in a mental hospital somewhere and Wirt couldn't do that to Greg. He wouldn't let anything happen to him again. 

Of course, that was hard to do when his clueless mother insisted on collecting antiques, her favorite of which was a dinner bell with a loud, clear tone. Every visitor insisted on picking it up and trying the bell for themselves, and it was all Wirt could do to keep from screaming. Sure, if his parents noticed how his fists clenched at the sound or how he held his breath nearly to the point of passing out they would get rid of the bell and he could relax, but it would be worse for Greg in the end. 

He repeated to himself again. He would endure. For Greg's sake.

+

"My family's going to make jack o'lanterns tonight if you're interested," Sara offered.

Wirt nervously scratched the back of his head, thinking of a carved pumpkin face staring right at him, yelling about rocks. "Well, I, um..." 

"Wirt." Sara wrapped an arm around him. "It's okay. You never were a big fan of Halloween, were you?"

Wirt shook his head. "Not in a long time."

"That's fine. Just thought I'd ask." 

"Wirt?" 

The pair turned to find their English teacher, Ms. Samuelson waving him down. "Mind staying after class a moment? I'll write you a pass."

Wirt looked to Sara. She waved him on. "I'll catch you later," she reassured him, and with a kiss pressed to her forehead, she was off. 

"Can I help you, Ms. Samuelson?"

The panic began setting in. Wirt couldn't think of anything he had done recently to make her suspicious of him. Or at least that was what he thought. He probably did something wrong without realizing. Typical Wirt, he should have known.

"Well, Wirt," she said, shuffling papers, "I must say, I suspected you would excel during our poetry unit. But this," she finally settled on a paper and held it out for him, "is far behind a high school level. I mean that."

Wirt's face flushed. "Thank you very much."

Something in Ms. Samuelson's face shifted. "As well written as it is though, Wirt, it is...incredibly dark, to say the least. So I must ask if there's anything going on at home?"

"Oh! No, everything's fine. Just... reading a lot of Poe, I guess." Wirt's heart was nearly leaping out of his chest. 

She flashed a thin-lipped smile. "Nothing at all? Perhaps I could refer you to the school counselor?" 

"No," Wirt said hurriedly, backing out of the classroom without grabbing a pass. "I'm fine. Thank you."

Wirt prayed that Sara would not go looking for him when he didn't show up to their math class and ran to the bathroom instead to splash his face. Before he knew it, the bell was ringing to signal the end of the day and Wirt was still standing there, staring at his reflection. As if time had passed him by. 

+

Sara, with her ever-calm voice and soft skin, was like a ray of sunshine, and her breath was warm on his face as she moved in to kiss him.

Who would've thought that after all this time she'd still want to be there with him, still satisfied with his company. She deepened the kiss; She was light and warmth, and Wirt was cold. 

Yes, Wirt was icey cold like he was drowning again. His lips were still and useless, as if he himself were dead. 

He should be. He should be dead, he had seen too much, he had come so close to death before and he was sinking to the bottom of the lake and branches were closing around him and he couldn't breathe _he should be dead-_

"Wirt, you aren't breathing."

He squeezed his eyes shut, for he feared that if he opened them he would only see how his skin had decomposed. 

"Can you open your eyes, Wirt?"

"Not yet," he breathed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright." Sara pressed their foreheads together. "Take your time. You're alright."

+

"Here," Sara said, handing him a glass of water. He gulped it down quickly. Poor Sara had to put up with his dramatics again, waking her up with his screaming. And he had almost gotten over the night terrors, too.

"I don't know what came over me," Wirt admitted. "I'm sorry for any trouble."

"It's no trouble at all." Sara pulled her legs up onto the bed with him. "Not now, not ever." 

She bit her lip, and scanned his face intently. 

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's just...Who's Beatrice?"

Wirt dropped his cup into his lap. "Oh!"

"It's alright if you don't want to talk about her," she reassured him. "It's just that you where saying her name just now, and I know some of the stuff you write is for her." 

"It's fine," Wirt said, surprised. 

Beatrice. How does he begin to explain Beatrice, who saved him, who (for all he knew) was still alone in the Unknown. 

"She's an old friend," he settled on. "But she's not here." 

+

Wirt's phone rang in the cup holder beside him, and he briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at it. "Sara," he started, "could you get that for me?"

Sara nodded and picked up the phone, sitting in silence and furrowing her eyebrows until she finally said, "It's alright, we'll be there soon," and hung up. 

"Who was-"

"We need to go pick up Greg from the pool."

"What?"

"Apparently someone pushed him in and it scared him," Sara said, pinching the bridge of her nose exhaling slowly.

"Oh my god," Wirt said. Poor Greg was alone, probably panicking, forced to relive his near-drowning by himself. Wirt should have been there. He should have been there to stop it. Wirt was all Greg had, and if they couldn't trust each other and watch each other's backs then what could they do? He felt the car swerve slightly under his control.

"Hey Wirt?" Sara said. "Pull over, okay? I'll drive."

At her words, Wirt found his heart swelling. Maybe he and Greg weren't completely alone after all.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comment, and please talk to me on tumblr @conlonspots!


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